


Sleep

by SilverPrince



Category: Code Lyoko
Genre: Alcohol, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 07:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4657242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverPrince/pseuds/SilverPrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nostalgia brings Jeremie back to a long forgotten place. He is not the only one who has come back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleep

What surprised Jeremie was not that the Supercomputer was already on when he got there, but that one of them had been so careless as to forget to turn it off before they left. Surely they all knew better than that.

And yet, there it was. The towering black and gold monolith in all its shimmering glory. Almost certainly the most powerful computer ever built, a relic of the Cold War and the legacy of a single crazed, tragic man. So much had gone into that machine, and it sat unused and abandoned. Wasted. But ready. Still ready.  
  
Jeremie Belpois, a man of 17, turned back to the elevator and pressed his hand on the button. The doors seemed to close more slowly then they used to. The button seemed so small. Had he really been so young when he found this place?  
  
No. Jeremie Belpois was never young. Not when he was here.  
  
Two floors up, familiar green metal greeted him. The sound of his footsteps echoed and rattled him, a sharp sound that he hadn't realized he had forgotten. How many times had he run along that floor, desperate to reach the terminal, wracked with fear? How many times had he almost died in this room?  
  
The chair still spun to greet him, and the monitors sprang to life as they always had. The holosphere remained dark, however - Jeremie did not know if it was because it was broken, or merely if there was nothing for it to show. He thought for a moment just how marvelous - in the literal sense of "marvel" - everything in this place was. Decades ahead of even the most theoretical possibilities that existed now, let alone years ago when it was built. It was as if Jeremie had stepped foot into the future. And yet, it was the past.  
  
There was dust on the keyboard, but not nearly as much as there was on the monitors or the cables. Someone had been here, relatively recently. His first thought was Aelita, but he doubted she would ever be so secretive. She had told him of the other times she had visited, why would she keep another one to herself? She had come here more than he had, but then, she had a more... visceral connection to this place than he had. Aelita had been born here, in a way. She had died here, in another. She had once been a princess here. Surely she was entitled to a secret visit if she wanted one.  
  
But Aelita would have never left it on. She had more to fear here than anyone. And she would not have left a bag of chips lying on the floor, either - Jeremie saw the gleam of crumpled plastic beneath his shoe. As he bent down to pick up the bag, he realized his feet could touch the floor now. It gave him more pause than he was willing to admit.  
  
The "best by" date on the bag was from three months ago. The chips themselves could probably have come from anywhere, but he guessed a vending machine. There was still a chip or two in the very bottom, which immediately ruled out Odd. He thought for a moment who among Yumi, Ulrich, or William would be more likely to eat potato chips and leave them around, but then another thought occured to him. It could have been someone else entirely. Jeremie had stumbled upon the Factory alone, of course. Someone else easily could have as well.  
  
Something inside him boiled. It was irrational, he told himself, but it did not quiet him. This was their space. For someone else to come here, to sit in this chair... to touch the switch on that computer without knowing what it stood for, what it was... it felt like a violation.  
  
There were cameras, Jeremie reminded himself. They were powered by the Supercomputer, they would have seen anyone come in here. His fingers dashing madly on the keyboard, as if they had never left it, Jeremie brought up the camera feed. There he was, his blonde hair looking eerily green like all the metal around it as he sat in the chair. Every other camera showed dark rooms - the Scanners were not active, and the lights in the Supercomputer room had shut off. One of the cameras, showing one of the Factory corridors, no longer worked at all. He brought up the record archive - the cameras had indeed been storing videos every day for the past three months.  
  
By knowing what days the cameras had been active, Jeremie could tell what days the computer had been on - what days people had been here. Nearly every June 6th since the day they "shut it down" had a recording, but the frequency decreased as time went on. The cameras had been dark for over a year before the mysterious chip-eater had visited. He recognized dates of his own visits - three of them, counting today - and many of them probably being Aelita. And there must have been countless more times where they had come here without flipping the switch. They had always come here together. It felt strange thinking about people coming here alone.  
  
January 8th was when the computer was last turned on, at 2 in the morning. He recalled it having been a particularly snowy winter, so whoever had come here must have had a reason. The plows did not come to Ile de Seguin. Whatever warrior trudged here in the dark of night had a calling far more important than the mere nostalgia that had brought Jeremie here today.  
  
At 2:14 AM on January 8th, William Dunbar had turned on the Supercomputer. He had stood before it for three solid minutes, staring. And then, at 2:17, he kicked it. Then he punched it, then he kicked it again. His mouth appeared to be moving, but the cameras had no sound and Jeremie was no lip-reader, so the words he had shouted that night were known only to William and the universe.  
  
Well, except for that one. That word was very clearly "Fuck."  
  
At 2:21, William stopped fighting the Supercomputer and sat down on the floor with his back slumped onto it. His head faced the ceiling, but his eyes were shut. He remained there for twenty minutes - he must have fallen asleep. When he awoke, his head snapped around in several directions as if he was disoriented. Then he stood up and, without looking back, briskly walked into the elevator.  
  
A few moments later, he appeared again on the camera in the lab. He walked along the metal floor, this same metal floor, and sat in this same chair. William's head slowly looked around the room, and his fingers wiggled above the keyboard. It occured to Jeremie that William had probably never actually sat in the chair before. William gingerly tapped a key, and then the same key several times. In a few moments, as Jeremie could tell from the light blanching William's face, the monitors woke up. William stared at the screen for a while, tapping keys every now and then. It was clear that he didn't really know what to do. Eventually, he brought out the offending bag of chips and ate it ravenously, then threw it aside as if it had never been there. He was leaning close to the monitor, and Jeremie couldn't see his face or what was on the screen but he imagined William was in awe. It really was a powerful thing.  
  
Or, hey, maybe he was just leaning very close and whispering "fuck you." That was also very possible. And very justified, Jeremie decided.  
  
And then William pulled away and Jeremie could just make out, on the screen, William's face. William waved to the monitors and the image waved back. He had found the video recorder.  
  
Jeremie had the videos folder opened before he even realized he meant to do it. Rows of folders faced him, all copies of Franz Hopper's diary he had saved. And then, dozens of rows down, was a folder Jeremie did not recognize. "The Diary of William Dunbar Jan 8," it was labeled.  
  
William waved at him on the screen. "Hey, I actually made something work on this thing," William told him. His voice was very plainly tired; it creaked and echoed with fatigue. There were dark circles under William's eyes, and his hair seemed greasy. It was longer than Jeremie remembered William's being in middle school, and there was a shadow of stubble on his jaw and lip. With a red scarf and black wool coat, however, Jeremie felt relieved to see that William's fashion sense had not changed.  
  
"Am I actually recording? Yeah, I think so. So, uh, yeah. I don't really know why I'm doing this, but I guess I feel like... I dunno, I should say something. This is my first time ever sitting in this chair. It seems... smaller than I remember. Everything is smaller." He paused. "I guess I'm just bigger." He chuckled once, looking down at his hands. "I... told myself I wouldn't come back here. That there was nothing for me here. But I couldn't help myself. I just..." He rested his head in his hand for a moment, then looked back up with a sharp intake of breath. "I just can't fuckin' sleep. I can't fuckin' sleep. I haven't fuckin' slept in three years. And I'm so... so tired."  
  
"I can still hear him when I close my eyes. I can still see it, when I dream. It's dark, like it was when I was gone, but... I can tell it's the darkness from when I was there. I don't even like to be in dark rooms anymore." He looked around. "I'm even afraid sitting here, like... like he'll come back. Like he can hear me. Like he's watching me."  
  
Jeremie suddenly felt guilty watching the diary, but he couldn't turn it off. He felt like someone ought to hear what William was saying.  
  
William rested his head in his hand again and laughed. It was a breathy, disdainful laugh. "God, I sound so crazy. But I'm so tired of the nightmares," he said into his hand. "I wanted to make sure he was really dead, but... it's not like I can fuckin' tell on this stupid thing." At "tell," William's head snapped back up and he gestured towards the monitor. "Half of this isn't even in French. How the fuck did Jeremie even read this? How fuckin' old was he when he found this, like... 12?"  
  
Well... yes, actually. But this didn't seem to be the time for snark.  
  
"I beat up the computer a little bit, and then I even slept a little, so I guess that helped. Maybe I'll just... come here and kick it every night. It's not like I'd be the first person to sleep here, I'm pretty sure I saw some stuff left around by homeless people when I came down here." William stared at the screen for a few moments, visibly tired. Beyond tired, even. Exhausted, gaunt-faced... maybe even malnourished. Suddenly Jeremie felt terrible, should he call him? He hadn't really seen or spoken to William much since they started attending different schools. They had given so much and worked so hard to save William, but ever since, they... hadn't really connected back with him. And this is what had become of him. Jeremie felt sick.  
  
"I feel like I hardly know this place," William began again. "I saw it like... twice, and then I was a prisoner. This was... their place. I was just a... tag-along." He looked around again. "I wonder what they must be doing now. I wonder if they ever come back here." He paused. "Are any of you watching this?" He laughed, and this one seemed more genuine. "Sucks for you to have to see it. I promise, it's not as bad as it seems... I'm just tired. Do you have nightmares too?"  
  
Sometimes when Jeremie woke up in the middle of the night, wrapped in blankets, they felt for a moment like wires coiling around him. Sometimes he heard screams in his dreams, far away but still enough to wake him up. He could never tell whose screams, exactly, and suddenly it was that much more concerning to him that he had heard so many he couldn't recognize one from another. And his phone was always on silent now, because text notifications always made him jump.  
  
"Yeah," Jeremie said aloud to the screen.  
  
"He talks to me sometimes. I can hear him. Even when I'm not sleeping, but when I'm lying in bed with my eyes closed. Do you ever think about how fucked up this all was? Like... fucked UP? There was this fucking... monster right fucking here, attacking everyone and fucking... taking over people and trying to kill people and we were in fucking middle school! It's so fucked up!" William's eyes were wide, and he was dragging his hands down the sides of his face. His eyelids pulled down for a moment and the flash of visceral red tissue made Jeremie's hair stand on edge.  
  
But William had a point. It really was fucked up.  
  
"One time I went to a therapist, and I was ready to tell her and ready to make my case that it was real, but... when I finally saw her, I... I couldn't say anything. I just sat there, I couldn't make a sound. She would have thrown me in the nuthouse... or maybe even called the government or something... this has gotta be some government thing, right? I can't ever tell anyone. I'm a fucking wreck and my parents won't talk to me because they're so afraid of me and I can't tell anyone because I'll look like a nutcase." He paused. "I guess I am, though. I just want to sleep. But I can't." William yawned, and slumped down in the chair. "I'm pretty tired now, though. Maybe... maybe I can take another nap here." He shut his eyes.  
  
After three minutes of silence, it was clear that William had fallen asleep in earnest. The camera recorded for another six hours before William woke up, turned it off, and as the surveillance log recorded, left the Factory.  
  
Jeremie looked down at his phone. It was just past midnight. He ought to call William and say something. Not that he knew what to say, but he couldn't let him be alone any longer. But then Jeremie noticed that there were more folders than the one Jeremie had just looked at. January 9th. January 10th. January 12th. January 17th. There were entries, at least once a week but often more, even into March. He had been here four days ago. He clicked the most recent one.  
  
"The Diary of William Dunbar, March 11th," William began. "I'm pretty sure I saw Odd in town today. He was at some restaurant with some guy. I fuckin' knew it. I fuckin' _knew it!_ " In contrast to his first entry, William was grinning and full-faced. Red-faced, even. Drunk. William was drunk. "The guy was pretty good lookin', though. So good for Odd. And he didn't even, like, throw his drink in Odd's face, so that's a good omen." William was quiet for a moment. "He doesn't do the purple in his hair anymore, and it was down, and cut short. But I'm sure it was Odd. He was small and wearing purple capris and, like... I could tell the eyes were the same. I'm sure it was Odd. I wanted to say something, but, like... I didn't wanna be a douche."  
  
"Hey, y'know, this wine I got is actually pretty fuckin' good. I'd been drinking this Polish vodka and I mean I got drunk and all but wine drunk is such a better drunk. The French have the right idea. God, I hope my dad didn't hear me say that." He chuckled. The only word Jeremie could use to describe it was "goofy." It was a goofy, ridiculous sound, but it made Jeremie relieved to hear it. William produced a bottle from a backpack he had with him and took a generous swig. "I'm trying to quit cigarettes but the less I smoke, the more I drink. But this tastes better." He chuckled again.  
  
Jeremie skipped forward several minutes.  
  
"And I just... I fuckin'... I wanted so badly to be friends, y'know? But I never was a friend!" William was sobbing, tears rolling down his cheeks and snot down his lip. "I was always just the other guy!" He took a drink from the bottle, a long one, so long that he finished it off. It had only been seven minutes since the video started, Jeremie noted. He felt guilty again. "The tag-along! The also-ran! Nobody really gave a shit! God... I must have been such a burden!" He cried in his hands for a few moments, then snapped back up. "I was such a fucking tool! God, no wonder Yumi never talked to me after. Such a fuckin' creep. ' _Love makes me go crazy_ ,'" William said with disdain - was that something he had said once? "Fuck. And all those poems I wrote... Jesus. I wouldn't like me either."  
  
Jeremie skipped ahead again. He felt too intrusive watching this one, but he couldn't look away.  
  
"And that fucking douche never even... did anything! He could never do it! He could never fuckin'... man up and ask her out! She was fucking nutso about him, worshipped the ground he walked on, and he never fucking made the move. Never! _I'm Ulrich Stern, I'm emotional and broody and emotionally constipated, why won't anyone love me, wah wah wah._ At least I fucking made my intentions clear." William's face was even redder now; the tears had gone, replaced with bitter rage. "God, I can't believe this shit. I can't believe I shtill... hate him so much! I do! I hate Ulrich! It's been fucking years, and here I am, in this shtupid Factory, crying my little eyes out... fuck." His head hit the keyboard and he remained there, unmoving, for over a minute. "Why can't I let this go? Why can't I sleep?" William sighed. "Guess I'll shleep in the chair again, because I'm a fuckin' four year old." He looked directly into the camera with bloodshot eyes and said "Good night." The video ended.  
  
"Well, I guess since it's your chair I can take the floor tonight," said a voice behind him.  
  
Jeremie practically fell out of the chair and whipped around to see William Dunbar standing in the doorway. WIlliam wasn't as tall as Jeremie thought he would be. In fact, as William stepped closer, Jeremie realized he was taller. His mouth was open, but he couldn't think of what to say. Eventually, Jeremie croaked out "I'm sorry."  
  
William smiled. It was a half-smile, but an earnest one. "I wouldn't have kept them on there if I really didn't want people seeing them. Did you... watch all of them?"  
  
"Nah," Jeremie said. "Just the first and the last. I... I'm sorry I never called, or..."  
  
William raised his palm up to stop him. "Don't," he said. He shrugged the backpack off his shoulder and pulled out a bottle of wine. "Want a drink?"  
  
Jeremie stared at the bottle. He didn't really drink except at nice dinners. And it seemed... almost sacreligous to drink in the Factory. But somehow the word "sure" escaped his mouth.  
  
William was wearing a white shirt with some weird design on it, probably some band's album art. It made it obvious how pale he was, but then, Jeremie was even paler. William's hair was even longer than it had been in the first video, to his shoulders, but he was at least clean-shaven - with the exception of sideburns. He looked like he ought to be in a band. Of course, William pretty much always had.  
  
"Well you know how I've been recently," William said, dripping with sarcasm. "So how've you been? Are you still seeing Aelita?"  
  
"Oh... no, not, like... boyfriend and girlfriend," he said. "I mean, we're still friends, I see her every day in class and stuff, but we haven't dated for... I guess it's been a year now."  
  
William took a breath in through his teeth. "I... honestly didn't expect you to say no," he said with wide eyes. "It's hard to imagine you not dating Aelita. It just seemed so... perfect."  
  
"Oh... I mean, we've done some growing up, and I mean... romance was never really my thing, or her's, really... and honestly I feel... relieved? Not to be in a relationship? I mean, I liked Aelita a lot but the whole concept of a relationship just seemed really stressful and... yeah." Jeremie said all of this while staring at the floor. He felt a nudge on his shoulder; William was offering him the bottle.  
  
"Take a drink, friend." William had a knowing smile.  
  
The wine was far, far stronger than anything Jeremie had ever had with dinner. It felt like a warm kick in the gut, and he couldn't take much more than a small swig. But it was fruity, and not too bitter. He held the bottle for a moment then took another, more generous drink. It went down smoother, and warmed his chest and face. "'s good," he said with a vigorous nod.  
  
"It's something from Australia," William said. "At least I think. There's a kangaroo on the bottle." He brought the bottle to his face and squinted at it for a while. "I can't read in this light, but I'm pretty sure it's Australian." William took a drink and sat down on the floor. "So, Jeremie... come here often?"  
  
"No, this is only my third time since... y'know." He sat down across from William. The metal floor was cold, so he took another drink of wine. "Honestly I just kinda felt... nostalgic today. I didn't really have a reason. Aelita comes here more than I do. And there are other visits... I can tell from the camera logs. I bet all of us have come here at least once."  
  
"That makes me feel better... wait, camera logs? Did other people record videos?"  
  
"No, I mean, the surveillance cameras."  
  
William's eyes went wide. "There are surveillance cameras?" His head whipped around as he looked all around the room.  
  
"Uh, yeah, there's a few. One in each room, plus a few in the Factory. They run on the Supercomputer's power. Franz Hopper probably put them in because he was paranoid, but they've come in handy."  
  
"I watched some of his diaries. That guy was nuts. He was a genius, but he was nuts." William snagged the bottle back and took a drink.  
The two were silent for a long time. Jeremie looked at his hands on the floor. William picked up the bottle and tried to read it again. There was a faint hum in the background that Jeremie had never noticed before, but he knew it must have always been there. He had just never had time to stop and notice it before. He had never been... calm in this room. There was always something else going on.  
  
He had never in his life simply hung out at the Factory. He wasn't sure he liked it.  
  
"Do you... do you ever have nightmares?" William's voice was quieter when he spoke again.  
  
"Sometimes," Jeremie said, just as quietly. "I dream about being caught in wires, and I'll wake up and have my blankets wrapped tight around me and for a moment it'll feel like I'm trapped again... sometimes there are screams... I can never tell who." Jeremie still stared at his hand. He tapped his index finger on the steel floor, hearing his fingernail click and click and click. "Nothing like you have though, I imagine."  
  
"Aren't you ever worried... he'll come back?"  
  
Jeremie could hardly hear William, and he couldn't bring himself to look at him. But he was certain of the answer. " _No_ ," he said. It echoed through the lab and came back to his ears tinny and reverberated, but forceful.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
Jeremie looked up and met William's eyes. William had been staring right at him, and when their eyes met, William's head jerked back slightly. "Because we got rid of him. Franz Hopper died to get rid of him. Every single bit of him was erased. I checked and checked and checked again. He is never coming back." There was silence. Jeremie realized he had clenched his fists. He relaxed his hands and went back to tapping on the floor. "And besides. He wouldn't sit around silently like this for so long. If he were still around, he would have come for us by now."  
  
"What... what if he is? What if he's been coming for me? I can hear-"  
  
William was silenced by Jeremie's chest in his face. Jeremie got up and grabbed William in a hug, his arms wrapped around William's head. Jeremie opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't think of anything. He silently held William there, moving his hand just barely up and down through William's hair.  
  
"You... are hallucinating and having nightmares because you suffered a traumatic event. But no one is coming for you. There's nothing left of him," Jeremie said finally.  
  
William grabbed Jeremie's shirt and started to cry. It was a wet, wailing sound that Jeremie could feel in his ribs. "I know, but I can't... I can't convince myself! It's like... he's in my head! There's a part of him left in my head!" William gripped tighter and whimpered. Jeremie's breath shallowed, and he wanted desperately for William to let go, but he couldn't say so. This was the least he could do.  
  
Jeremie didn't exactly know what to do. He patted William on the head and continued holding him close, but he had no clue what to say. "If... if XANA were in your head, the Scanner would have picked it up," was all he could think to say.  
  
William pulled away from Jeremie just enough to look up at him. "R-really? You're not just..."  
  
"No, really," Jeremie said, vigorously nodding. "Aelita had... well, we thought it was a virus, but it... well, long story short, Aelita was marked with signatures from XANA for a long time. The Scanner would have alerted me if it picked them up in you. And she had nightmares, too. Almost every night. She had trouble sleeping for a while. And XANA was always after Aelita. If he hasn't come for her, he isn't coming for you."  
  
"Can... can you check? Can you scan me?" William pulled his head away and looked up at Jeremie. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them puffy and red. Big, fat tears continued to roll down his cheeks. Jeremie had never in his life seen anyone this way.  
  
William's skin was oily, peppered with scars that had once been pimples. His lips were dry and cracked, and suddenly Jeremie could smell all the wine on his breath and it was overpowering. Jeremie could see patches of hair that William had missed while shaving. Tiny black hairs here and there above his lip and sticking out of his chin. William Dunbar was a wreck. A wreck who hadn't showered in at least three days, and who hadn't brushed his teeth in a week. He obviously hardly cared about how he looked. There were red wine stains on his shirt and Jeremie couldn't tell if they were new or old. Probably both. William Dunbar was a broken man, a casualty of a war that no one remembered.  
  
"Yeah," Jeremie said. "I can check. Head downstairs." Jeremie let go and stood up, involuntarily wiping the grease from William's hair on his shirt. With a sniff and a stumble, William got up and got into the elevator. His wide, red eyes were still staring right at Jeremie as the doors closed.  
  
"I... I'm here," William announced after a few moments. The sound through the microphone made Jeremie jump, but when he sat in the chair his fingers found the keys to initialize the Scanners as if they had never left them. On the security monitors, Jeremie could see the Scanners come to life and open up. William stared.  
  
"Your scanner is waiting, sir," Jeremie said, remembering words that friends had told him once, when he was afraid.  
  
William waited for a heartbeat, then stepped in. "Scanner, William," Jeremie announced as goosebumps spread across his skin. He tapped the enter key and the doors shut. The floor beneath his feet began to vibrate, and a mechanic hum kicked on. It made Jeremie short of breath. That was an old, forgotten sound.  
  
He put the Scanner on a diagnostic cycle. A three-year-old picture of William appeared on the screen as the Scanner detected his identity. Messages popped up on the screen informing Jeremie that the subject's mass and shape were out of parameter - that is to say, that William had aged. A dialog box appeared - did he want to adjust the subject's profile to match the new parameters?  
  
No, Jeremie decided. It was best left untouched. He would never, ever need it ever again.  
  
The diagnostic was near completion. The scanner was just now beginning to examine William's head. As the line on the diagram of William's body began to near his brain, Jeremie found himself holding his breath. He didn't know why. It wasn't as if he would-  
  
A red exclamation point appeared on the screen.  
  
"That's impossible," he muttered to himself. "This... this has to be miscalibrated." He ordered the Scanner to repeat the diagnostic over William's head. The same symbol appeared again, the symbol that had vexed him almost all his young, middle school life. He hated it. He wanted to throw up.  
  
"Subject memory engrams are indicative of patterns flagged as dangerous by filters," the screen told him. "Virus detected."  
  
"That... that must... this must be an old diagnostic, this must be the one I used on Aelita, not the one I made later." No, it was not, and Jeremie knew it. He ran it again, and again, and again. Virus detected. Virus detected. Virus detected.  
  
And there was only one virus the Scanners looked for.  
  
Jeremie thought for a moment about Aelita, about how she had lived for a year thinking there was something evil inside her. He had been wrong, Jeremie told himself. There wasn't anything there. Maybe... Maybe XANA had stolen something from William as well?  
  
No. He knew what to look for now. There was nothing missing. The very patterns of matter and energy in William's brain had been changed. They were no longer William. They were XANA.  
  
Metallic clanging broke Jeremie's concentration. It was William, pounding on the Scanners. Underneath the pounding and the humming he could hear the sounds of screaming. Wordless, fearful screaming. Was it William who was screaming? Or was it XANA?  
  
We could fix it, Jeremie thought. There must be a way to fix it. He tried to open old backup files of William's template. He could replace William's matter pattern with one of those, couldn't he?  
  
No, the computer told him. The subject's mass and shape were out of parameter. Did he want to adjust the profile to match the new parameters?  
  
No, Jeremie told the computer. The banging had gotten louder and faster. The screaming had gotten louder. Angrier.  
  
We could fix it, Jeremie thought. There... had to... what would that entail? Sleepless nights, coding? Going into virtual worlds, looking for long forgotten shreds of code or information, wracked with fear over the impending end of the world if they failed? Would they shun their familes and friends again? Cast aside their lives? Put their lives at risk?  
  
Jeremie had scanned and scanned and scanned again. There had been nothing left. But... to save William, the processing power he used to just find him had meant sacrificing other systems, like diagnostics. There had been nothing left in all the Internet, but he didn't even think to look where XANA had lived all that time. He was there. He was still there. And everything... everything they had done now meant nothing.  
  
He looked down at his keyboard, and then up again at the red exclamation point on the screen. And down at the keyboard, and up at the screen. There was one way to fix it.  
  
"Virtualization," Jeremie said as he struck the enter key. The pounding and the screaming ceased.  
  
The metal banged beneath Jeremie's feet as he walked to the elevator. Nothing seemed small anymore. Now it all felt big. Far too big. He grabbed the bottle of wine as he went, and slammed the button in the elevator so hard a few flecks splashed onto his hand.  
  
It was frigid in the Supercomputer room. His breath ballooned in front of him in countless tiny crystals. The beauty was lost on him. The Supercomputer glittered just as ever, ignorant to the evil it was a testament to. Jeremie stepped up to the machine that had once been everything he cared about, that contained the person that had once been his friend. The oily, bloodshot, tear-stained husk that had been altered at a molecular level to play host to the remnants of the greatest evil mankind had ever known. Broken, alone, and forgotten. The world would go on without William Dunbar. It was the only way it could.  
  
Jeremie flipped down the switch.  
  
The room was dark without the Supercomputer glowing. Jeremie turned his back to the descending machine and faced the switch on the wall. He took a swig from the bottle of wine, then poured its remaining contents onto the switch until angry electric sparks flew into his face. Jeremie grasped the switch and threw it up, and down, and up and down again. Nothing.  
  
No one would be turning this machine on ever again. And what was inside would remain there forever, untouched, silent... and sleeping. Finally sleeping. And, in the end, wasn't that what he wanted?  
  
It was a hard price to pay for a world without danger.


End file.
